There
by clair beaubien
Summary: Missing Scene for After School Special: Sam, Dean, and a creative way to use a cold bottle of whiskey.


Author's Note: Having never experienced this kind of injury, all descriptions of the pain are pure conjecture.

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Okay, whoever the ghost was, it wasn't Barry. _And_ whoever the ghost was, it had the girl it was possessing this time around kick Sam _there_, and it _hurt_. He had to carry the girl to the medical clinic and tell the nurse that she'd collapsed in the hallway, then he had to get out again before the nurse could ask about the salt in the girl's mouth or the puncture wound in his chest, and then get back out to the car to tell Dean their job wasn't over. And he had to do it all while ignoring how much he hurt _there_.

Growing up, fights and falls and hormones had necessitated infrequent discussions of the intimate parts of Sam's body. Dad had never really gone for euphemisms, Sam didn't like colloquial expressions and Dean just flat out refused to use clinical terms. So he – Dean – had come up with the expedient '_there_'. Did Sam get hurt _there_? Did he need ice _there_? Seeing a bouncy girl and feeling a little interest _there _was nothing to be embarrassed about.

Well the answer to the first two questions right now was _yes _and _yes_. And the third one wasn't going to be happening any time soon the way things felt _there_.

He tried to walk out to the car as casually as he could for as much agony as he was in, past the trickle of people still at the school this late in the afternoon but it wasn't easy and he got a couple of looks that he ignored. He had to get to the car and tell Dean so they could figure out their next move before anybody else got their body parts handed to them.

Dean'd probably make fun of him for getting wasted by a girl. Yeah, well - Sam had two words for him: '_Missy Bender_'. She'd taken Dean out and she hadn't even had a ghost inside of her when she did it.

Or maybe Dean wouldn't say anything at all. Maybe he wouldn't care. Things hadn't been exactly _Hallmark _lately. Dean seemed to think Sam was indestructible or something, he didn't come rushing to the rescue the way he had before – _before _he died, before he came back, before Sam spilled so much of his guts of how he'd survived without him. Maybe Sam just didn't deserve the old kind of concern anymore.

He glanced back at the front door of the school as he walked outside. Back when they were students here, all Sam would've had to do was tell Dean '_that kid looked at me funny_' and Dean would've had 'that kid' by the neck two feet off the ground. All Dirk had done was push Sam to his knees and Dean had been all set to rip his lungs out.

Well, anyway, Sam could take care of himself. He always could of course, and Dean always knew that. It just never used to stop him from taking over the job every single time. Now – these days he always seemed to hesitate before offering Sam a hand up, he barely put up a fuss when Sam put in his own stitches, or taped up his own wounds, and Sam couldn't ask him why because he didn't want to risk an answer he couldn't live with. Like maybe Dean just didn't really care that much anymore.

Even now, as Sam walked – _limped _– to the car, he could tell by the change in Dean's expression that he could see something was wrong. But he didn't rush out of the car like maybe he would've before to find out _right now _what had happened. He waited until Sam was depositing himself gingerly into the passenger seat, offering a hand under his elbow that wasn't really helpful but was really appreciated anyway.

"_What_?"

"It wasn't Barry." Sam answered through clenched teeth. Sitting even on an upholstered seat was a nasty experience and the pain was taking his breath away.

"_What happened_?" Dean demanded and for a second Sam thought he could hear the old Dean in his voice. '_You're hurt and you're going to tell me HOW and you're going to tell me NOW.'_

"It was in a girl – she tried to attack me." Sam didn't know why he said it that way, why he only said she _tried._ She stabbed some long lethal pointy thing into his chest and kicked him _there_. If that was _trying_, he didn't want to see _accomplishing_.

"_Tried?" _ Dean asked, apparently thinking the same thing. "So - what's _this_?" He reached a hand out to Sam's shirt, hesitated a second, then pulled the shirt and t-shirt away from the wound.

"She stabbed me with something. A knitting needle or something like that." Sam pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to press against the wound.

"How's it look? Does it need to be flushed out?" Dean asked. Sam pulled his handkerchief away from the wound to check it.

"No, it's clean. Nothing sticking in it. I'm just gonna need a bandage. Not now." He added when Dean started to open his door. "We need to get out of here before they come asking why I pushed a handful of salt into her mouth."

"All right." Dean agreed, but he gave Sam a visual onceover as he started the car. "What else?"

"Let's just say the ghost picked a kid with perfect trajectory."

"Ohh - got you _there_, hunh? Okay, I'll find a place to stop and we'll have a look."

Sam shot him a horrified look. He maybe missed Dean taking care of him, but not _that_ much.

Dean caught the look and rolled his eyes.

"You know what I mean."

"I hope not."

Dean grinned as he started the car and despite the pain, Sam had to grin too. Sometimes Dean was just Dean, and that was better than anything. They'd already checked out of their motel since they thought the job was over, so they drove to an old road Sam thought he remembered from high school and stopped underneath a railroad bridge.

"All right, I'll get the first aid. Can you get out of the car?"

"Sure. By tomorrow."

Sam reached for the door handle but Dean was already there. He opened the door and put a hand around Sam's arm.

"All right. Nice and slow. Deep breaths. Can you turn? Don't try to do it all at once."

Little by little, with Dean's hand on his arms guiding him and supporting him, little by little Sam got himself out of the car and standing up.

"Okay? You okay?" Dean asked. "I'll get you the bandage and some ice."

"Okay. Thanks."

Sam thought standing would be preferable to sitting but the pain didn't ease and he wasn't feeling too steady so he gently – _gently _– eased himself down onto an old wooden crate that was lying there, adjusting his posture to find the least agonizing position.

Dean dropped the cooler on the ground in front of the car and handed Sam a bandage. He didn't crouch down in front of Sam, shove his hands out of the way, and have a good look for himself like he would've before - _before_.

"Thanks." Sam reached for the bandage and even that slight movement made the pain _there _ramp up so much that he squeezed his eyes shut and bit back a growl of frustration. Maybe it was psychological, but pain _there_ was worse than pain anywhere else.

"Here - you want me to -?" Dean gestured to the bandage but didn't make a move to take it.

Dean's hesitancy was reminding Sam of those last couple of years he still lived 'at home', when he'd get hurt and Dad would try to help him with an edge of wariness, like he was expecting Sam might explode on contact. Which – truth be told – he just might have.

Was Dean afraid of the same thing?

"Yeah. Thanks."

It wasn't until Sam said that that Dean stepped close enough to help. The time was that Dean would've already had Sam's shirt half off and the entire first aid kit open and ready.

"Puncture, I don't like it. When you'd get your last tetanus shot?" Dean reached behind himself and pulled an iodine swab out of the first aid kit to disinfect the wound.

"Um - _ow _- um - after the car accident. They gave me one in the - _OW _- ER."

"Okay, good. And stop being a wuss." Dean opened the bandage and pressed it over the puncture. This was the closest Sam thought he'd been to Dean since he walked into the motel room the day after he came back from hell. "Okay, let me see about getting you some ice."

"Okay."

Sam watched while Dean dug through the cooler then went to the trunk and dug around in there. After a minute or so, he came back around the car with an apologetic look on his face.

"No plastic bags."

"So - ?" Sam didn't understand.

"I don't think you want ice melting _there."_

"Oh. Ohhh. Yeah. Okay. It's okay. I don't need it."

Dean answered that with a '_pfft, yeah right'_ sound. He went back to the cooler.

"Well, it's not as cold as straight ice but -" He pulled out the bottle of whiskey and offered it to Sam. " - trust me, this'll help."

Sam took it and, after a moment's consideration, tucked it _there_.

Then suddenly, like it was something he couldn't hold in anymore, Dean snapped,

"_That ghost is dead. I'm gonna rip its lungs out_."

Sam looked up, surprised at the concern he heard. Dean must've thought he was looking at him for another reason though, like the ludicrousness of lungs in a ghost. He shrugged and tipped his head.

"You know what I mean."

Well _no_, Sam _didn't_ know what he meant. Dean was upset because Sam got hurt? He was _so_ upset that he wanted to rip the lungs out of a _ghost_? A ghost that - uh - didn't _have_ lungs? What just happened here?

But Dean went on, pulling out the paperwork, having another go at their research. A haunted bus, great. Not too many places for microscopic remains to be hiding on a freaking bus, were there?

Sam listened and discussed the possibilities with Dean. On the one hand, it was weird to be sitting discussing the job with a bottle of whiskey _there,_ in the 'upright and locked position' - though the cold _was _helping the pain. On the other hand, no matter how embarrassing, Dean had never razzed Sam about any injury he didn't bring on himself, and whatever it took to get Sam better was what Dean did.

"Ready?" Dean asked when they had their plans nailed down. He put away the papers and stood in front of Sam. "Need a little more time?"

"No, I should be good." Sam handed up the bottle. "Thanks."

Dean took the bottle but didn't move to put it back in the cooler. He reached a hand out to Sam.

"You need -?"

Well, Sam could get to his feet under his own power but having a little help from Dean was too much a chance that might never come again.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks." He said and Dean put a hand under his elbow and practically lifted him to his feet one handed.

"Okay? You steady? Sure? Good."

Dean patted Sam's arm, put the bottle back in the cooler and hefted the cooler back to the trunk. Sam watched him, watched him carry the cooler like it weighed nothing, watched him shut the trunk and then walk back around the car like he owned the world and the world was happy about it, watched him, just _watched_ him.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

And for a moment, feeling closer to Dean than he had since before he almost couldn't remember, with his injuries tended to and Dean looking at him like he really cared what Sam was about to say, Sam was back in high school and Dean was his sure guard against all comers and nobody with lungs better ever mess with him.

Sometimes, what Sam wouldn't give to have that back again, even for a few minutes.

"I think maybe -." Sam pulled on his shirt to have a look at his wound and his fast prayer was immediately answered when he saw that he wouldn't be lying. " - the bandage is bleeding through."

"_What_? Let me see." Dean marched right up to Sam, pushed his hands out of the way and had a look for himself. "What are you, a hemophiliac? I swear I've never seen anybody bleed like you do. All right, here. See?" He pulled another bandage out of his pocket and held it up like a prize. "This is why I always carry a spare."

He switched out the bandages, throwing the used one on the ground.

"What would you do without me?" Dean asked as he double-checked his handiwork. It was a loaded question, on so many levels, but none of those levels mattered now.

"I'd wait for you." Sam said. Dean grinned and lightly smacked his arm.

"C'mon Sammy. We've got a ghost to hunt down."

Sam walked to the car and set himself inside. The pain crested a little but not bad, and Sam hardly noticed it at all anyway when he saw that Dean was at his side, waiting, watching until he was settled before he got into the car himself.

Well, getting kicked _there_ was never pleasant, but just this once Sam thought that being in pain _there_ was worth being with Dean _here_.

"I'll check that bandage again when we stop." Dean said.

"Thanks Dean."

the end


End file.
